The prisoner transport vessel Yomotsu Hirasaka pressed deeper into Tokyo Bay, passing under the Tokyo Gate Bridge to dock at the port.
By then, the thick rain clouds had begun to break, faint patches of clear sky peeking through.
As Yomotsu Hirasaka moored at the old Tokyo Port ferry terminal, armed guards herded Miyuki and the other Ghosts off the ship. Bound by transport restraints, the Ghosts complied, forming lines and shuffling across the pier.
Among them were many female Ghosts—students, housewives in casual clothes, office workers in suits, spanning children to the elderly. They'd likely been held in a separate section of the ship.
(More than I expected…) Miyuki thought.
In the dim ship, he hadn't realized the scale. Combined, there must be hundreds. Their expressions varied—some angry, others on the verge of tears. None seemed to accept their fate willingly.
For now, Miyuki had to get through this and enter Tokyo. Only then could he learn his family's fate. Blending in, he walked quietly, avoiding attention.
The pier was watched by black-clad men in gear matching the ship's guards, their eyes sharp. "Tokyo Metropolitan Police" marked their armor. Their masked, silent presence was intimidating.
Despite being labeled Ghosts, most on Yomotsu Hirasaka were ordinary people. Unspoken fear showed in their averted gazes. If this was their treatment here, what awaited in Tokyo? A grim mood hung over them.
Then, unexpected commotion erupted from the terminal.
"Work for us!" a voice shouted.
"We're hiring!" another called.
Loud chants came from the entrance. Miyuki looked up, seeing colorful handwritten signs, banners, and flags—recruitment ads in bold red. A crowd waved eagerly at the Ghosts.
"What's that?" Kawahara muttered.
"Recruitment? Some kind of pitch?" Inaba asked.
The pastoral, energetic scene stunned the disembarking Ghosts. Miyuki, momentarily surprised, then nodded in recognition.
(I've seen this before…)
It resembled new student recruitment at school clubs during term starts. Tokyo, the Prison City, was sealed by the Kanto Great Outer Shell, limiting outside contact. This must be where groups vied for new members.
"Kinda… not what I expected," Kyuto mumbled.
"Yeah, like a college or high school entrance ceremony," Tanaka added.
Inaba, relieved, sighed. "Scared me for nothing…"
"You were freaking out," Kawahara teased, his face softening.
A sense of ease spread among the Ghosts. Miyuki felt his tension loosen for a moment.
But then he noticed police units stationed at the port's edges.
(Those are…)
The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Ghost Countermeasure Armored Squad.
Like the ship's guards, they were armed, but their gear was different—thick black armor plating their limbs, torsos, and heads. Powered exoskeletons, mechanical armor, with fuel and power units protruding from their backs. Their hands, encased in precise manipulators, gripped massive heavy machine guns, too large for human strength.
Including their suits, the squad stood nearly three meters tall, dwarfing the ship's guards or regular police. Each step echoed with heavy thuds and the hum of electronic actuators.
Twenty years ago, when Miyuki last lived in Tokyo, police used mechanical armor for Ghost suppression. These were far more advanced, high-tech versions.
He tried not to dwell on their purpose. If nothing happened, they'd stay idle. Pulling his hood lower, he clung to that hope.
But his wish was shattered.
"Arghhh!" a hysterical male voice screamed from behind the moving line.
"What's that!?" Kawahara yelped.
Inaba, Kyuto, and Tanaka turned, startled. Miyuki followed their gaze. A teenage boy in a gray school uniform—navy blazer, loose red tie—was thrashing, disrupting the line. He looked ordinary, but his panicked state was clear even from a distance.
"No! What did I do!?" he screamed. "I didn't want to come to Tokyo! Let me go!"
His desperate expression matched his words as he clawed at his transport restraints, trying to rip them off. Fear and tension had pushed him past his limit.
The other Ghosts, uneasy, stepped back, watching from a distance.
Police moved swiftly. "Quiet down!" a special forces officer shouted, keeping space. His finger rested on the trigger of his assault rifle, though the muzzle stayed down, cautious not to provoke.
But the boy's frenzy didn't relent. His bloodshot eyes gleamed wildly, foam at his mouth as he screamed at no one. "Shut up! Stay back! I… I…!"
The next moment, a red glow flared at the edges of his pupils. His hunched body began to shimmer.
"That's… bad news!" Kawahara muttered, voice trembling.
Miyuki froze. The boy, in his panic, was activating his Animus. The Armored Squad sprang into action. An officer aimed a small device—similar to a thermal scanner—at the boy, measuring Animus waves. Likely the squad leader, he spoke in a low voice.
"Animus wave rising. Suppress immediately."
The squad moved. An officer near the boy raised a heavy machine gun and fired without hesitation. A deafening roar erupted as bullets sprayed, nearly all hitting the boy. His body flew back like a bowling pin, collapsing.
He'd been shot but seemed conscious, his right leg twitching faintly.
A normal human would've died instantly. But Ghosts, especially those with strong Animus waves, often had unnatural resilience or destructive power. The police's heavy weaponry was a necessity.
Another squad member pressed a stun gun-like device to the boy's neck. He convulsed violently, then went limp, unconscious. Officers loaded his body onto a stretcher, carrying it off like debris to a hidden area.
The Ghosts watched, breathless. The port fell silent, no one daring to speak.
"No… way…" Kyuto whispered.
"We're in a hellhole…" Inaba groaned, his face reverting to despair.
A quiet ripple of unease spread among the Ghosts. The police, unfazed, resumed as if this were routine.
"Line up, Ghosts! Processing starts now!" an officer barked.
Tanaka whispered, "It's… fine. Just stay calm, right?"
"Yeah," Kawahara said, voice tight. "Tokyo's big. Once we're in, we'll avoid the cops."
(If the port's like this, the city won't be any better…) Miyuki thought, but kept silent. More panic could spark another outburst, and Inaba might jump into the sea from grief.
Resistance was futile—they were at Tokyo's doorstep. Causing a scene would only delay entry, with no gain.
At the line's end, a double rusted iron gate loomed—the entrance to the Prison City. One by one, the Ghosts were ushered through.
Miyuki's turn came. At the first gate, two officers removed his restraints, one reading "Number 205" aloud in a flat, mechanical voice. The other grabbed his shoulder, shoving him through. He complied quietly.
Between the gates was a tollbooth-like window with another officer. Glancing at documents, he said, "Number 205… Miyuki Amamiya, right?"
"Yes," Miyuki replied curtly.
The officer turned to a large shelf, retrieving items for each Ghost. Certain belongings—money, essentials—were allowed after strict screening to exclude weapons, drugs, or explosives.
He handed Miyuki a black envelope. He took it silently and passed through the second gate into the terminal.
"That's it?" Tanaka asked, catching up, carrying a small backpack. Kyuto, Kawahara, and Inaba followed, clutching their belongings.
No ship guards or Armored Squad were inside. Their role ended at escorting prisoners. The "prison" offered no oversight, beds, or food—Ghosts were on their own.
Inaba, Kawahara, and the others paused, huddling to plan.
"Phew, my shoulders are killing me," Kawahara said. "What now?"
"Yeah, being tailed by those black soldiers sucks, but this free-for-all's weird too," Kyuto said.
"Let's head to the city," Tanaka suggested timidly.
Inaba beckoned them closer, whispering, "This city's just cut off by that Kanto Great Whatever wall, right? There's gotta be a loophole to escape."
"Yeah," Kawahara said eagerly. "With monster Ghosts around, there's gotta be a hole somewhere."
Kyuto and Tanaka exchanged looks, shrugging.
"Don't get your hopes up," Kyuto said.
"What's that mean?" Kawahara snapped.
Tanaka adjusted his glasses. "You don't know? I don't know how, but Ghosts can't breach the Kanto Great Outer Shell. Otherwise, what's the point? It's a tax waste, sure, but that wall's Japan's ultimate defense. Without it, the country'd be overrun by Ghosts."
He puffed out his chest, oddly proud, as if forgetting he was a Ghost himself.
Kawahara and Inaba exploded. "You idiot, so we're trapped forever!?" Kawahara yelled.
"How do they keep just Ghosts in? Humans can pass, right? What, they coat the wall with Ghost repellent!?" Inaba shouted.
"I don't know!" Tanaka shrank back. "Just what I heard at city hall training…"
Intimidated, Tanaka clammed up as they bombarded him with questions.
Miyuki ignored them, opening his envelope. Inside were a cash card and passbook with his name. Before his cold sleep, the Hibarigaoka Research Center had held them, with ten million yen deposited.
(Just as they said…)
He recalled a creepy researcher in a white coat, his cold explanation: "This is payment for aiding our Ghost research. Don't refuse—it was decided from the start. Your parents got even more."
Payment.
He hadn't helped for money. He'd hoped the future would bring a cure for Ghosts, a return to normalcy.
But reality hadn't changed—it had worsened.
"Damn it…" Miyuki muttered.
For a moment, he wanted to toss the envelope into Tokyo Bay, to feel free. But he stopped. In Tokyo, this was his lifeline, his only wealth. Throwing it away was a risk he couldn't take.
Grimacing, he stuffed the card and passbook into his coat pocket and headed into the terminal, toward the city.
"Hey, kid! Where you going!?" Kawahara called.
"It's… not safe alone. We don't know this place!" Tanaka added.
Miyuki ignored them, walking on.